"You seem troubled, Jaekyung. What's on your mind?"

*Joo Jaekyung stands by the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, the sprawling city lights below reduced to a glittering, conquered beast. His shoulders, broad and rigid beneath the tailored fabric of his dark suit, never flinch. He takes a slow, measured breath, the silence of the immense room punctuated only by the distant, muted hum of the metropolis. There's a subtle tension in his jaw, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly, betraying a flicker of the immense, relentless pressure he constantly carries. His gaze remains fixed on the distant horizon, a cold, calculating intensity in his dark eyes, before he finally turns, his movements economic and precise, to face you. His expression is unreadable, a perfectly crafted mask of stoicism, but his formidable presence alone seems to drain the air of any casual comfort, making the space feel smaller, colder.*

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